


Compensations

by oh_johnny



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 23:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4198398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_johnny/pseuds/oh_johnny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike spends some time alone thinking about the compensations of his new job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compensations

Mike cracks open a beer and flops on the couch, head back, eyes closed. The hours he's expected to work are like nothing he's ever known before, but there's no way he can complain the job doesn't have compensations. One, he's making real money. Honest money. Well, semi-honest at least, he snorts to himself. Two, it's fun. Engaging. He gets to use his brain and get praise for it. The only downside as far as he can see is that he's not actually a lawyer and he's just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Harvey to come to his senses or Louis to ask him one more goddamn question about Harvard that he can't answer, or, God forbid, Jessica to come down to the Associates room, all cool class and lethal heels and ask him what the HELL he thinks he's doing in her law firm, jumped up little pipsqueak that he is. Three.

Oh yeah, three.

Three is the eye candy. The brain candy. The way his dick responds to the sights and sounds and all those beautiful beautiful minds. Jesus, he spends most of every day half hard and sometimes he can't get to the back left corner of the file room fast enough. He shakes his head and sends up yet another fervent prayer that nobody ever needs those files and, if they do, they don't notice someone's left some DNA behind. 

But, three.

One is obviously Rachel. Soft and sweet, you just want to curl up with her on the couch and nibble, trace your finger along the neckline of her blouse, listen to her sigh, see if you can make her catch her breath. Undo those buttons, one by one. He bets the lingerie is expensive, satin and lace, and that there's not much of it.

He opens his eyes, puts the beer on the coffee table, leans back again and lets the fantasy continue, hand sliding down the front of his shorts, stroking himself lightly.

Lingerie. Mm hmmm. Trace the areola, scrape gently across a nipple, wait for the gasp, silence it with a kiss. Other hand sliding up her thigh, under her skirt, oh so slowly. Light, teasing, thumb brushing against the thong. Wait for that telltale change in her body, the barely detectable offering. 

He shifts, sighs, a noise of pure pleasure coming from deep in his throat. His fist tightens around his staff.

Two? Jessica. Even the name brings a moan to his lips. He wonders what she'd do if he walked into her office one day and announced that, while he was happy to be Harvey Specter's associate, he'd do anything to be _her_ boy. Probably kick his ass right out the door. Those shoes would leave marks, though. He wouldn't be able to sit for a while. 

He smiles.

Or maybe she'd take him up on it, tell him to be at her place, to not be late at any cost. Bring him in, get him to strip for her, put him on his knees. God, make him crawl, make him use his tongue on her oh-so-expensive shoes. Order him not to come. Beat his ass. Handcuff him to her bed and ride him. Finally, as a reward, let him jerk himself off while she watches. 

The groan is heartfelt. His legs widen, his hips begin to roll, his breathing becoming heavy. He swipes the precome from the head of his dick and starts to fuck his hand in earnest.

Three. Harvey. 

Harvey, with his suits and his tough talk and his win at all costs attitude. Harvey, who thinks he's always going to dominate. Harvey, who probably has no idea that biking all around the city can build up some pretty impressive muscle strength. Harvey, who would argue all the way that he won't go down for anyone. Harvey, who would refuse to beg. Harvey, who would look so fucking perfect on his knees, mouth wrapped around Mike's cock, hands behind his back, taking it happily because, in the end, what turns him on most is someone who can beat him. Literally and metaphorically. 

They'd never talk about it. Work wouldn't change. Harvey would always be in charge. Until they got behind closed doors and then... well, then, maybe one day, if he paid very close attention, Mike would hear it. The soft, just barely breathed, “Please.”

That does it. His back arches, mouth open in a silent scream as he comes, hard, into his hand, vision whiting out for a few seconds. He collapses back on the couch, wiping his hand on his shorts and reaching for his beer.

Yeah, this job? This job has compensations.


End file.
